Irony at it's Best
by Nightmare on Titan
Summary: She just wanted to be normal. Unfortunately for Viscountess Whitlock, she can't escape the occult. She supplying a child and his demon servant sugar, her maid is part of a cult, a multidimensional portal pops up in her cellar from time to time, and now she's a soulless being who crashes balls and steals family portraits. M for later chapters.


The girl sat placidly at in her study, nearly falling asleep at her desk. A thick, fat book sat in front of her, papers spilling out . They were all over, elegant cursive turning sloppy as the writer tried to finish in haste. The room smelled of cotton, ink, and rust. The white lace ends of her dress were almost nonexistent, and what few taters were left were stained brown with muddy water. In fact, everything up to her waist was stained, and there were streaks on her chest. She wore a dark grey skirt stiped with a lighter grey. Her shirt was white with puffy sleeves and a low neck line and a tan waist coat on over.

She was supposed to be on a little trek to find her little brother who had wandered out into the forest. Somehow it turned to finding a decrepit old castle full of failed science expiriments gone wrong chasing after her. Of course the doors had been locked when she tried leaving with her brother in tow. Things went from bad to worse after that. She had been dunked in a tank of formaldehyde, and had to wad through the flooded basement to give the scientist last rights so the undead would 'turn off'.

She hated the occult, not because it was taboo, but because it wasn't interesting. But she always managed to stumble over every supernatural creature in London.

The front of her was sprayed with blood that had been attempted to be scrubbed clean in the dirty water. Wet sand colored hair was piled in a bun with chunks that had slipped free. Light blue, almost white eyes poured over the information in front of her, her cheek resting in her hand. Her brother was getting bathed right now, so it would be a while before she could get a good, hot bath. They had gotten back home early in the morning, having left the afternoon before.

The sharp rapping on her door gave her a headache, but was successful in drawing her out of her daze. "Yes?" she croaked. Her throat still burned from accidentally swallowing the formaldehyde and mud water then throwing it back up. A painfully ginger head popped in a crack in the door.

"Lady Whitlock? Lord Phantomhive is requesting to see you." She waved her hand, hardly even caring about her state of being. Compared next to Ciel, she was like a lump of coal next to a faceted diamond. Even his butler was posh. She was Ciel's elder by about eight years, but he was her boss, a dutiful one at that. The only reason that she worked for him was because when they first met, there was nothing supernatural about him or anyone that worked for him.

"Viscountess Whitock, as my employee I expect you to present yourself better during our meetings- Hepsybeth!" She hadn't bothered to look up, but instead stare at the pages she leafed through. He sighed irritably, and Sebastian moved and pulled the book of reports out of her hands. Her eyebrows furrowed, and it took a few moments to process what had happened.

Ciel knew he couldn't fire her, she owned nearly all of the sugar feilds that supplied his company, and it would be a pain to find a new supplier. "Viscoutess Whitlock, your behavior is extremely rude, and should consider yourself lucky that I don't break our contract right this moment."

She arched an eyebrow at him. Her head was rested in her hand, and her fingers rhythmitically tapped against her cheek bone. She usually favored her left hand, but that one was pretty badly scraped up. "Yes, you could do that, but you won't," she drawled out. Hepsybeth covered her mouth with the back of her other hand and coughed. She wiped the red droplets on her skirt. "because there isn't a single other person who owns a sugar field that could supply you, or who wants to work with you."

Ciel's eyes narrowed, and he approached her desk. Her eyes were glassy, and a smirk had crossed her face. Hepsybeth hardly ever talked to anyone, and didn't even have the audacity to smile. She was like a stone statue with her eyebrows permanetly furrowed from the annoyance of something. Ciel didn't recall a single time when she had shown up to a ball. Holding a small conversation was something he had both looked forward to and dreaded.

"But you know what? I do not particularly care being in a contract with you," she continued, standing up. "In fact," she picked up a stack of papers and walked over to where a fire was blazing in the fireplace. "I may terminate it myself. There are many more, and better offers waiting to be confirmed. Ones that pay better, and have a boss who isn't a selfish child who goes around and indirectly causes death and mayhem all willy nilly."

Ciel didn't like to admit that he felt a brief passing of panic, but he did. There was no way he could find someone to supply his factory with as much sugar at as good of a price as she did, especially with Christmas being in a few months. "If you burn that contract, there is no coming back. I won't accept, it you even if you beg, do you understand?"

She didn't respond, but did toss them into the fire. The fire seemed brighter to Hepsybeth, and everything else in the room seemed highly contrasting. She rubbed her eye with the heel of her palm. "Please escort Lord Phantomhive and Sebastian from the premicise." The ginger maid's hair seemed even more so red, but she had convinced herself it was the after effects of the formaldehyde. Ciel and Sebastian both frowned when they saw her, but she sumised it was from being kicked out.

"Ma'am, would you like me to draw your bath once they have left?" she asked. Her voice was raspy, and she was naturally a tall, muscular woman, who was timid, but kind hearted. She was secretly a member of a cult that worshiped the death gods. She would constantly help to open up portals to let them pass into the land of the living. Her other servant was the gate keeper of this region. Not only would the Shinigami pass through, but anything and everything from other dimensions as well.

"Yes, that would be lovely." She sat back at her desk and pulled a sheet of parchment and wiped the excess ink from her quill. She sat in silence for a while, writing a letter to the men who wanted to be her employer. They were one of the Funtom's company's biggest competetors, Downsennet. They were a confectonary company that was bigger in America and France, they also supplied the adult entertainment industry, owning almost all the brothels in London. Hepsybeth was certain they would tarnish her reputation, but she didn't exactly have much of one in the first place.

Her chest started burning, and when reaching down into the front of her shirt, she felt something thin, but smooth, like porceline if it was thinner than a leaf. She quickly pulled out the burning strip and threw it to the floor. The sides were black, and the middle was white except for squares with color on it. It burned into a small crumple, leaving a scortch mark on the carpet.

"Ma'am, you bath is ready..." said the small voice from across the room. Ah. The maid's eyes were fixated on the spot, knowing she would have to scrub extra hard to get the mark out. Hepsybeth stood up, sighing, and took the maid's hand as she led her to the bathroom.

In there, she stripped out of her clothes, ordering for them to be cleaned and mended. She quickly scrubbed off what dirt she could that clung to her body before stepping into the bath. Hepsybeth sat quietly while the maid scrubbed her hair, enjoying the feeling of her fingers against her scalp. Her own hands ran over her body with a bar of soap. But, no matter how hard she tried to clean her chest, there still seemed to be blood on her breast.

Oh.

_Oh._

Her arms dropped down to her side, letting the soap sink to the bottom of the tub. The maid rinsed her hair a few times over to make sure the suds were out, while her boss sat there with a blank face that almost seemed horrified.

Her arms shot out, wrapping around the dark red material clad shoulders of the maid, who was extremely startled. Hepsybeth leaned her face into her chest, feeling a hot burning pricking the corner of her eyes.

"Oh Lucretia, I have been so blind," she whispered, eye locked onto the deep golden brown ones of the maid's. They were blown wide suprise and shock. Her own arms arms settled around her back, not even caring about sullying them with the bath water that clung to her master's skin. "Kiss me you bewitching fool, just a graze of pink will do me well. A fleeting life that knows not of the warmth of flesh has not yet been fufiled and shall not join the stars and the dirt until so."

The maid knew her boss was a strange one, and would utter the occasional poetic phrase, but she never did know she came to be this extreme to odd. Hepsybeth never showed any pefrence to either gender, and not a single suitor seemed to catch her eye. "O-oh! W-well I-" she tried to stutter out her words, but nothing complete came out.

"Just please allow me this, just this one thing before I sleep my eternal rest..." she murmured softly, fingers playing with the dark orange strands that hung against her back. In the light, it almost looked red. Hepsybeth jerked her face down, firmly pressing their lips together. Lucretia let out an undignified, muffled shriek.

Hepsybeth's tongue slid into her mouth, and her fingers knotted in the maid's soft ginger locks. She thought she tasted like cloves and bitter chocolate, and to her, it was the most beautiful taste in the world.

There was a lough, sharp cough at the door. They seperated, both their lips glossed with spit. A man stood there, a giant streak of red. Both of the women knew who he was, as she often exited their portal, and would sometimes do pest control on the many spirits that were drawn to the manor.

"Well as much as you two would love to get back to macking, there's a soul here I have to collect." Grell leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed. She managed to convay an annoyed, but extremely pleased look on his face.

Lucretia stood up quickly, smoothing down the front of her dress. "I-I'd be more than happy to help you l-look for it Mister Grell..." her cheeks were flushed a bright red that could rival Grell's own hair.

Hepsybeth stared down into the water that was quickly cooling, playing with one of the bubbles.

She slammed his death scyth into the floor angrily.

"That's Miss Grell to you young lady!" she snapped, tugging the scyth free. Storming forward, she held it up high. "But I don't need your help finding the soul, I already see the one I have to collect." She didn't wait for an answer, and instead manuvered around Lucretia and slammed down the blade into the viscountess' abdomen.

The tendrils of her cinematic reords sprung out everywhere, and Grell began to go through them without any interest. Shee noted that there was, in fact, nothing special about her except that a few parts of the cinematic record was missing. It had gotten a little out of hand, and the records spread out across the entire ceiling.

The entire time Lucretia had been begging and pleading for him to let her go. She was tempted, very, very tempted to since the only way for the gatekeeper to stay there was to work for the owner, but if he disobeyed William's orders, she was sure he'd get skinned alive.

Grell went to (finally) collect it. Her body laid limp in the cold, dirty water, and her eyes were glazed over, her pupil jagged. Her skin had turned so pale so quickly that it looked like she had been replaced with a wax figure.

Lucretia had dropped to her knees next to the tub, holded her boss' head to her chest. Through watery eyes she looked up at Grell, who was reving her death scyth. "Please... don't do this, just let her live..."

Grell looked down at the maid, her head just barely cocked to the side. "Well I couldn't do that even if I wanted to darling. What good would returning her soul be if her body is already dead?"

Lucretia could barely make out the last few words as Grell's scythe roared to life. When the tip just barely touched a stray strand, which was the only one in reach, her eyes went wide, reflecting the bright orange that consumed the room.

**ah, jesus. i should really be working on the third chap of when cosplay goes wrong, but instead, you get lesbians and grell getting the pronouns she deserves.**

**well on the bright side at least i edited sickly beast a little and got a new chapter of that up. i also will have art of hepsybeth's clothes on my da account at withthisring.**

**cheers have a good night.**


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